


Having trouble sleeping?

by vaenarys



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaenarys/pseuds/vaenarys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tosses and turns for a while before Illya becomes too annoyed to ignore it. "What now, Cowboy?" he growls. </p>
<p>"I can't sleep like this," Solo states and Illya is sure that the other man is pouting, but he can't bring himself to care. There is a long silence and a few more turns from Solo before Illya decides that he will take the bait. </p>
<p>"Why?" Illya asks with a huff and without much interest.</p>
<p>Solo is bound to have slept with other people in  one bed before, given his reputation as a playboy, so what is the problem right now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Having trouble sleeping? 睡不着？](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265788) by [blakjc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakjc/pseuds/blakjc)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Проблемы со сном?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929278) by [BlueSunrise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSunrise/pseuds/BlueSunrise)



> This was inspired by something I read on tumblr. damnstevens wrote something about how Illyas bed in the movie was probably far too small and cramped for him and Napoleon just happened to have the biggest bed in the hotel (probably). So sleep-deprived Illya demands that Napoleon swaps beds with him. It's probably not what she wanted to read but the story just happened to be just fluff. (I actually intended to write smut. But... Oh well...) Enjoy! And tell me what you think. Still, I'm not a native speaker, so please tell me if you find any mistakes!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](vaenarys.tumblr.com) and fangirl with me about Napoleon and Illya.
> 
> EDIT 12/09/15: First things first lots of love to Alobear for proofreading this story and correcting my horrible grammar and spelling. I'll gladly come to you for help for the second chapter as well! 
> 
> In other news: yes, I'm currently working on another chapter but I can't say if I will finish it any time soon. 
> 
> Also, thanks to all of you for showering this story in Kudos and for commenting on it. You guys rock! I really didn't expect this story to get this much attention!

Illya isn't often bothered by the fact that he is taller than most people. In fact, he finds it rather pleasing that it gives him an advantage over most enemies he has to face in his line of work. Plus, intimidating people is also easier when you can look down on them, literally.

Yet sometimes, there are situations where he wishes he was at least a little shorter.

Like tonight.

Illya tosses and turns in this excuse of a bed, struggling to get comfortable as he has for the past hour or so. He tries hard not to be too loud about it, since Gaby is sleeping in the bed beside his.

It's just no use. Every time he thinks he's found a somewhat comfortable sleeping position, his body proves him wrong by tensing up. It's just impossible to fall asleep like this. 

Another futile attempt at getting comfortable passes and he grunts in annoyance and curls up into a ball. He pulls the blanket around him to cover his now cold feet, but only gets more annoyed since the blanket is  **also** far too small for him and just won't stay where he wants it.  

The rustling of the sheets may have been a little loud since Gaby mumbles something in her sleep. Illya freezes before he turns his head to look at her.

Has he woken her?

The room is only lit by the pale light of the moon and some dim yellow glow from the street lights outside. Still, it is  enough for him to make out the features on her face.

She looks relaxed, childlike even. Illya  can't help but smile at that. 

The protectiveness he feels for her overwhelms him like it does frequently. Once more he finds himself wondering why she triggers all these feelings inside of him. He props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at the sleeping woman. No frown obstructs her beautiful face. No worry over their mission shows itself. Not even a hint of that annoyed pout Illya sees on her when Solo says something just to irritate her.

Which is practically all the time.

Illya frowns.

Solo is also someone who stirs feelings inside of him. But not of the good kind. Whatever makes the man able to get under his skin as easily as he does, Illya wants it gone. 

He feels fury crawl inside him and exhales a low breath to calm himself. He doubts that thinking about that stupid American will help him go to sleep. Especially, since Illya knows that the other man has a comfortable king size bed in his room. One he doesn't even **need,**  since he is not nearly as tall as Illya. So, no trouble falling asleep for that irritating imbecile.

They should just trade beds, Illya muses.

He sits up with a start.

...

Whether it is a flash of madness or the need to _just sleep already,_ he does not know. What he does know is that only minutes later he is standing in front of Solos door. His knock is echoing around the empty hallway. For a split second, and to his own surprise, he worries that Solo might have already been asleep. And then he shakes his head and  decides that he just doesn't care.

When Solo opens the door an easy smile is on his lips. He leans one arm against the doorframe. To anyone that is not trained to read even the tiniest bits of body language, he would seem relaxed. To Illya - not so much.  To Illya, Solo's stance gives him away, probably because he is just as tired as the Russian is. Illya is almost certain that Solo expected some kind of assault. He can see the tension in the muscles of the other man's face and neck, even though everything else of him is covered by one of the dark bathrobes from the hotel. 

All in all, he seems genuinely surprised to see the Russian standing there. Illya in some weird kind of way feels pleased by that. 

"Well, this is a surprise," Solo says, and  opens the door a little further. Illya notices the light that is streaming out of the room. It's probably from a lamp on the night stand. When Illya doesn't say anything, Solo cocks an eyebrow at him. He is only barely able to hide his annoyance at this disturbance. Maybe he is not even trying to.

"Let me sleep in your bed. Mine is too small," Illya states matter-of-factly and Napoleon gapes at him.

There is a moment of silence between them. Solo blinks several times, Illya not once.

"I may have misunderstood that," Solo eventually says. "Come again?"

Illya huffs out a breath. He is too tired for this and not in the mood for long explanations. "Let me sleep in your bed. Mine is too small."

"Okay, so my ears are still functioning. But, I'm wondering about your brain now." Solo shakes his head in disbelief.

"Good night," Solo says with a yawn and starts to slide the door closed again. Illya simply puts one hand against the door and pushes it back open while Solo stumbles a few steps back. 

"I'm serious," Illya says and pushes past the other man and into the room. The fact that Solo lets him do that without much protest irritates him, but he lets it go as soon as he lays eyes on the bed. He realizes then and there just how tired he is.

"Jesus, Peril," Solo mutters but just shuffles over to the bed. Illya assumes he will gather some of his things and leave. Since he obviously agreed to the trade of beds, right? 

And then he is a little taken aback as the other man just disposes of his bathrobe and slides between the sheets.

"What are you doing?" Illya asks, irritated. 

"What does it look like?" Solo answers with a groan. "I'm trying to sleep." He pulls the blanket over his head. "Turn off the light, will you?"

"I meant to trade the beds, Cowboy. We can't leave Gaby alone."

"Not happening. She's a big girl and can take care of herself."

"I will not share it with you."

"Then leave," Solo slurs, his voice already heavy with sleep. He extends one hand from beneath the blanket and makes a shooing motion.

Illya is torn between the urge to storm out of the room and break something, and the need to finally sleep.

He eyes the bed again. It is rather big. He will probably not even notice the other man in it. Also, it looks a lot more comfortable than those miniatures in the room he and Gaby share.

In the end his need for sleep wins out and he takes a few steps towards the bed. Solo is laying in the middle of the bed now and Illya purses his lips in annoyance.

"Move over," Illya says as he reaches for the switch of the lamp on the nightstand.

That makes Solo peek from under the blanket with an incredulous expression on his face. "You're staying?" he asks and, much to Illyas surprise, actually moves over. 

Illya just shrugs and turns off the light before slipping into the warmth that is the blanket heated by Solo's body. He will never admit to anyone that it feels like heaven to his tired limbs.

They lie back to back in the darkness and Illya can hear the steady inhaling and exhaling of the other man. It would probably have lulled him to sleep but then Solo begins moving around. Much like Illya had in the far too small bed in the other room.

He tosses and turns for a while before Illya becomes too annoyed to ignore it. "What now, Cowboy?" he growls. 

"I can't sleep like this," Solo states and Illya is sure that the other man is pouting, but he can't bring himself to care. There is a long silence and a few more turns from Solo before Illya decides that he will take the bait. 

"Why?" Illya asks with a huff and without much interest.

Solo is bound to have slept with other people in  one bed before, given his reputation as a playboy, so what is the problem right now?

Illya feels the other man turn again and then the bed dips behind him. He feels warmth against his back, far closer than it should be. Then he almost jumps as an arm sneaks its way across his waist. He should feel angry because of this breach of personal space. But Solos elbow brushes against his hip and it feels... so... goo- weird, definitely weird. 

"What are you doing?" he asks in a low voice that he hopes holds enough threat to scare the other man off again.

"I told you I can't sleep." 

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's simple," Solo states and Illya really tries to ignore the ghost of breath against his neck and the weight of the arm on his waist. He bites down on his lower lip but can't help the hairs rising on his neck.

"Whenever someone else sleeps in a bed with me, I have to touch," Solo continues and his arm moves a little bit and brushes against Illyas hipbone.

Illya tenses and he can feel that Solo does, too.

"I will break your arm."

"That would be a terrible idea, given that we still have a job to fulfil," Solo answers with a smile that Illya can hear in his voice.

"Let go," Illya breathes out, now promising murder with his tone.

"No," Solo answers, but not as confidently as before. "Come on, Peril. It will be more difficult for both of us if we keep discussing this. Just run with it and sleep." There is an almost pleading tone in his voice and it makes Illya pause. Maybe there is more to this... cuddling... than Solo lets on, or maybe he is just really desperate to sleep.

"If you do anything else I will kill you - _slowly and painfully_ - when this mission is over," Illya threatens again, but relaxes despite himself. 

"Sure, sure," Solo answers tiredly. He snuggles a little closer and Illya isn't startled this time. Instead, he admits, if only to himself, that it's rather nice to feel the warmth of the other man against him.

He closes his eyes; now that Solo has stopped his tossing and turning, Illya might finally be able to find sleep.

But still, his thoughts won't stop spinning. This situation is too absurd for him to simply adapt to it like Solo does. Or maybe it is the anticipation of the mission that keeps him sleepless. The uncertainty of it all.

He is unaware of the fact that one of his hands has wandered to the spot where the watch of his father used to be. Normally, he would touch the face of the watch and this action would calm him, reassure him. But now, Illyas fingertips only brush against the skin of his wrist. He knows that the watch is gone and he feels a tug of sadness and anger inside of him because of it.

Solo stirs beside him again and before Illya can be annoyed because of it he feels the arm on his waist being lifted. Then, there is the rustling of fabric and finally a feeling of warmth against his wrist. Foreign fingers wrap around the space where his watch used to be, and Illya is surprised by the effect it has on him. The weight against his pulse makes him feel incredibly calm and a long breath escapes him.

"I'm sorry about your watch," he hears Solo whisper somewhere near his ear and Illyas head starts spinning as he realizes that the man sounds truly honest for once. _It is an act_ , he tells himself. _It has to be_. Still, he brushes the fingertips of his free hand against Solo's. 

"Feel better?" he hears, or rather feels the other man ask against his neck.

"Yes," he answers softly and no matter how weird it feels to say it, it is true. Illya feels the other man stroke his thumb against his pulse and the rhythm of it makes him unbearably sleepy.

"Cowboy?" 

An indistinct hum is the only answer he gets. "Hmm?" 

"Sleep well," he manages before his consciousness finally slips away.

"You too, Peril."


	2. Well rested, but restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally, every day begins with him being awake and aware from the moment he opens his eyes. It's part of his job, being aware of things. May that be his surroundings, the count of people in the room or the fastest way out of a fight, should it come to one. The slightest ghost of change in the air wakes him up and makes him grab the knife he always keeps near to wherever he is sleeping. But today seems to be entirely different from the mornings he is used to. 
> 
> And that's not solely because he can't remember where he put the damn knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said in september that I was working on a second chapter... and I was! But it didn't turn out like I wanted. So, I abandoned it and the continuation of this story just sat there on my computer and bugged me for the past months. Now, I stumbled upon it again and finally decided to publish it anyway... I've read it several times and changed things over and over, but it's still not what I wanted... 
> 
> Plus, it's shorter than the first chapter... All in all it's probably just a dissapointment for all of you who wanted a second chapter... I'm sorry.  
> It's also not beta-read at all. (At this point I give a quick reminder that I'm German and that I'm still learning to write stories in English.) So, feel free to point out any mistakes.

Illya doesn't startle awake like he usually does in the morning. 

He just slowly, almost tenderly, dips into consciousness, which is actually pretty strange. He blinks a few times at the stray rays of light that fall through a gap between heavy hotel room curtains as everything comes into focus.

Normally, every day begins with him being awake and aware from the moment he opens his eyes. It's part of his job, being aware of things. May that be his surroundings, the count of people in the room or the fastest way out of a fight, should it come to one. The slightest ghost of change in the air wakes him up and makes him grab the knife he always keeps near to wherever he is sleeping. But today seems to be entirely different from the mornings he is used to. 

And that's not solely because he can't remember where he put the damn knife.

Illya considers just slipping back into the abyss that had been a deep dreamless sleep. He even closes his eyes for another  
moment and just enjoys the coziness that is the warmth of the blanket and the firmness of a body wrapped around him.

He tries to move his hand and finds the fingers of another -slightly paler hand, loosely wrapped around his left wrist. He disentangles himself and frowns at it. 

It is, without a doubt, the hand of a man. 

In his unusual morning daze his brain only vaguely registers what is going on. 

He doesn't remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone. And he doesn't even want to consider if the fact that he does right now has anything to do with him feeling so… save.

Illya only now realizes that the arm attached to the foreign hand is curled around his torso, radiating blissful warmth. However, before he can do anything about it, the person behind him makes an incoherent noise and begins moving. Pale fingers intertwine with his again and Illya can feel the other person snuggle closer and breathe against his neck.

It takes him far too long to remember who this hand, body and breathing belongs to.

Still, he doesn't start when it finally dawns on him. Instead, he sits up very slowly, trying not to wake the other man. It's just a precaution, he tells himself. He doesn't know the full extent of Solos abilities, so who knows what the other man is capable of if he startles him.

Now, the arm lowers to Illyas waist as he shifts, but their fingers remain locked. Illya is still too sleepy to ponder on it. He runs his free hand over his own face and through his hair. The memories of last night come back to him and he remembers the… agreement and how Solo helped him calm down with only a simple touch.

Illya checks the surroundings with a quick glance but doesn't notice anything within reach of the bed that passes as a weapon. If Solo ever has to defend himself, he will have nothing but his bare hands to counter whatever an attacker confronts him with.

Does he always sleep without precautions?

Careless. 

Anyone could just walk right up to this bed and murder Solo in his sleep. Illya can think of at least five different ways to kill him right now and he wouldn't even have to leave the bed for it.

Illya turns to look at the man who is still sleeping soundly beside him. 

He takes a moment to fully focus on his new… partner. Solos hair is ruffled from sleep but still has some product in it which makes it stand up in spiky strands here and there. Illyas fingers twitch at a sudden urge to touch, but he resists and just keeps looking at the other man. Solos face seems more relaxed than Illya remembers it from last night, or any occasion he saw him before that.

Still, the Americans sleeping face seems troubled. As if even in sleep he can't escape whatever thoughts run through his mind when awake.

Illya remembers the words he said himself on the day they were introduced to each other. He remembers the leash that keeps Napoleon from straying too far from the man who owns him for at least five more years.

Illya doubts that they will let him go after that - Given that he is still alive by then.

He knows one or two things about being tied down by invisible strings. The threats of death, duty and honour sometimes just are different by name and not in execution.

He wonders if the other man feels like he is suffocating too. If, whenever someone tugs on the leash, he is reminded anew that he is, despite all the liberties he has, not free.

Maybe, Illya thinks and finds himself running his thumb against the side of Solos hand, they aren't as different as he first thought.

Illya stops his movement and shakes his head violently in order to get rid of those thoughts. His gaze fixes on the blanket covering his legs and he realizes that Solo is almost completely tangled with him. 

This is dangerous.

Suddenly everything seems to be too much. The coziness, the closeness, the incredible feeling of actually being rested for once in his life.

He needs to get up and away from the warmth against him and from these thoughts that just complicate things. He has to focus. He has things to do. Gaby will be up soon. He has to-

He can't think straight right now. 

There is a loud drumming noise in his head. A rush of blood in his ears. He doesn't even realize the relentless tapping of his own index finger against the foreign arm around his waist. 

The memory of the orders his boss gave him ring in his ears as loudly as the insults the man spats at Illya regularly. 

"Kill the American if necessary."

It dawns on him that if he stays here any longer he will not be capable of that.

A warm hand against his chest stops his heavy breathing from escalating into hyperventilating. 

He snaps out of his episode. Something he only rarely manages without flipping a table.

Illya slowly realizes that the weight against his waist is gone and that Solo is sitting upright beside him. However, he can feel that the fingers of his left hand are still touching Solos. 

He feels the other hand of the man lift from his chest and a few seconds later it presses against one side of his face. Illyas head is turned gently until blue eyes come into his line of sight.

Solo says something, but Illya can't hear him - can hear nothing but his own blood rushing in his ears.

Blue eyes that look concerned but tired fix on him. They are somehow soft, but still alert. Illya can see the tension in the others body. Solo is ready to bolt should Illya decide to lash out. 

He can't blame him.

Solos breathing is exaggerated, too, if only a little. Illya must have startled him awake despite his original caution.

Illya needs to look away before he gets too attached to this. He lowers his gaze again. But Solo shifts beneath the blanket and slides one leg over Illyas body and his gaze snaps up again.

Despite the fact that both of them are ready to flee, it seems that neither of them is able to move anywhere but closer. The hand on Illyas face slides lower to the base of his neck. Illya can feel a light tremble in it.

There is change in the air. The kind Illya stays alert for most of the time. It compels him to act. Yet, probably not in the way he does. His free hand finds his way against Solos thigh and as Solo releases a breath of air he hears something else entirely.

Illya is sure that he will always remember the sound of two invisible chains tangling in each other.

Illyas gaze finds Solos again and both of them tense up at the things they see.

He isn't sure who of them initiates it, he knows that he arched his back a moment before it happened and yet he swears he had felt Solo move at the same time.

Their mouths find each other in a flash. It's not gentle. They don't leave the other time to adjust to the new situation. Both overwhelmed and overwhelming at the same time. Illya tightens the hand around Solos thigh and the other around their still interlaced fingers. Solos free hand tangles in the short hair on Illyas head. They both hold on to each other like they would to a lifeline while drowning. Yet, they struggle against the need to come up for air, because they know that if they do, the spell will be broken. 

Illya doesn't notice his hand wandering up and under the shirt of Solos pyjama until he already digs nails into the flesh of Solos chest. The man above him gasps into the kiss and both of them freeze at once. Heavy breathing fills the air as they simply stare at each other. Illya feels free and trapped at the same time. He wants to pull the other closer again, but also feels the urgent need to run and never look back.

This is wrong, and dangerous in so many different ways. He thinks about the mission. About Gaby. About all the things he does and doesn't know about Solo and all the things the other does and doesn't know about him. Solo is bound to feel it too. This… Whatever this is, could be their death sentence. They break apart, push up from the bed, reel back until both of them hit something as they stumble backwards into the room. 

"I have to-"

"You better-"

Solo looks rattled, even more than Illya feels, which is probably a first. 

Illya watches as the other clears his throat and tries to compose himself. The usual confident smile slides back on Solos features as he strokes a hand through his messy hair to get a few strands out of his face. Illya swallows as Solo takes an almost offering stance and Illya silently curses himself. It is an act, and a weak one at that, since Illya can see the storm of thoughts and feelings inside the others eyes. Probably mirroring his own. However, they dull with every second as Solo slips on the mask he wears every day.

"Well Peril, that was unexpected. Next time buy me dinner first."

Next time. The words ring in his ears. Solos voice is still hoarse from sleep and a little too soft. Illya can still hear the tenderness he displayed the night before. He is almost frightened by it.

"This cannot mean anything."

Illya says and sees the other man tense. Called out on his bluff Solo struggles for a moment to find the right words. He doesn't seem to find them, because in the end he simply looks at Illya, determination in his eyes and says,

"It won't."

The next thing Illya remembers is the sound of a door closing and that he is storming down the hallway to his own room.

There won't be a next time.


End file.
